


We’ll Never Be Free Till We End Slavery!

by Skyfirewolf



Series: Hamilton short stories [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Cabinet Battle, Cabinet Battle 3, Cabinet Meetings (Hamilton), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, JOHN SURVIVED THE WAR, Lams?? You decide!, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, TW- SLAVERY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyfirewolf/pseuds/Skyfirewolf
Summary: Cabinet Battle 3Oh, + Hercules Mulligan and a not dead John LaurensAaand PTSD
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton & Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton & James Madison, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton & Thomas Jefferson
Series: Hamilton short stories [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596310
Kudos: 13





	We’ll Never Be Free Till We End Slavery!

It was a normal day. 

Well, as normal as a day with a cabinet meeting with State Secretary Thomas Jefferson could start out. So far, Alexander Hamilton was in a good mood. He’d asked Washington permission to invite his friends Hercules Mulligan and John Laurens to the meeting. And, much to his pleasure, the president had agreed. Now, as he walked toward his place, Hamilton looked around the courtroom in an attempt to spot the other war veterans. 

“Alexander!” 

Hearing his name, Hamilton turned and quickly spotted Laurens beckoning to him from across the room, a grinning Mulligan at his side.  He padded over to the two former revolutionaries, “Well, if it isn’t John Laurens and Hercules Mulligan.” He greeted, cocking his head mischievously to the side.

“Hi, Alex.” Laurens smiled in return, eyes shining softly. 

“How’ve you two been?” Hamilton asked, trying to ignore the warmth spreading under his skin at the open affection in Laurens’ green eyes.

Hercules shrugged. “Eh, the usual. Tailoring away all day, constantly stabbin’ myself with sewing needles on accident ‘cause I can’t sew.” 

Alexander arched a brow at the former spy. “Liar.” 

“Whaaaaat? Nooooo!” 

“Whaaaat? Yessss.” Alexander retaliated. “You can sew. Very well.”

“Nope.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “I give up with you. What about you, John? How’re you?” 

“Well, life’s pretty great. That’s all I can say now that the war’s over.” 

Alexander nodded. “True. Well, I gotta go take my place, I don’t want Jefferson to accuse me of being late and make a massive deal out of it... Just like he does everything else.” 

“Good luck, Alex.” 

Hamilton glanced back at Mulligan. “Thanks. Buuut, if everything goes 

well, I'm not gonna be the one needin’ luck.” 

“Ohh.” 

Padding away from his friends, Alexander smiled at the anticipation in John’s voice. His good mood quickly faded when he caught sight of Thomas Jefferson and James Madison glaring at him. They locked eyes, and Hamilton felt a spike of anger.

Jefferson smirked. 

A low growl rumbling in his throat, Hamilton reached his place and sat down.  _ You think you're so high and mighty, don’t ya Jefferson? _ He snapped in his head.  _ You think you’ve got it all? _ He grinned, teeth bared as if he were a wild animal.  _ Nah. _ Then, he looked up at Washington and waited for the meeting to begin.

Washington rose from his seat behind the podium, causing the room to go quiet. He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, you could’ve been anywhere in the world tonight; but you’re here with us in New York City!” Cheers erupted from many places in the room, and the president gestured for them to quiet down. His face grew serious. “The issue on the table: A petition from a Quaker delegation in Philadelphia calling on Congress to end the African slave trade and abolish slavery, in all its forms.” 

This time, boos and sounds of protest and anger surged from all around. John’s voice rang out among them. “AT LAST!” 

Alexander grit his teeth.  _ Oh, f**k off, slavers. You just don’t want to do anything yourselves. _

“Alright, enough! Hush!” Washington thundered. The room quieted, save for a few angry grumbles from the crowd. He continued. “This petition was written and signed by Benjamin Franklin. It cannot go ignored. If this comes to a vote in Congress, what is the White House's position?” He looked down at Jefferson. “Secretary Jefferson, you first.” His eyes narrowed, “Tread lightly.”

The Virginian stood, brown eyes glinting. For once, he looked serious. “Sir. The constitution clearly states that the states have to wait until 1808 to debate on whether to end the slave trade.” He turned to face the crowd. “And whether or not you want it, guys, that is the final compromise we made-”

Alexander slammed his fist onto the table as he jumped to his feet. “Sir, wait-!”

Jefferson interrupted, holding a hand up to Hamilton, who scoffed and shoved it away. “-But for a second let us say that we can legislate unanimous emancipation, freedom reigns, and yes, it's great. We cannot cure prejudice or righteous, desperate hate.”

Outrage flared in Alexander’s chest.  _ RIGHTEOUS?!! ARE YOU INSANE?? _

Jefferson went on. “So back to Africa or do they get a separate state? In 1784, I tried to float banning slavery in the West. My notion didn't get a single vote!” He shrugged. “Slavery's a sin, it's growing like a cancer; but we can't address the question if we do not have an answer.”

Hamilton rose from his seat. “Is it my turn?”

Washington nodded.

“Good.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Plantation states are packed with promise makers.” He glared at Jefferson, “Do you realize the precious time these legislators wasted? Institutionalizing slavery only multiplies our troubles. Wait till the 1800's, and their population doubles!” He turned to face the crowd, John and Hercules among them. “You all know this is the stain on our soul and democracy. A land of the free?” He shook his head. “No, it's not, it's hypocrisy. To subjugate, dehumanize a race, call 'em property and say that we are powerless to stop it, can you not foresee?” Now he turned to face Washington. “Sir, even you, you have hundreds of slaves whose descendants will curse our names when we're safe in our graves.” He grimaced at the flash of shame that crossed the president’s face. It quickly turned into a scowl of disgust. “How will the South find labor for its businesses?” He whipped around to glare furiously at Jefferson, his mood matching the heavy, dark storm clouds outside the window. “How will Thomas Jefferson find his next mistresses?!” 

Thomas flew to his feet. “How dare you!” He bellowed.

“Yet still, people follow like lemmings. All your hemming and hawing, while you're hee-hawing with Sally Hemmings!” Alexander went on, scowling.

“That’s enough!” Washington’s voice cut him off. 

Hamilton folded his arms, “Well you asked how I feel. I don't pretend to know the answer, but the question is real.”

The room was deathly silent, every occupant waiting with bated breath to see what would happen next.

But then, a voice. A voice belonging to the person least expected to join in. “If I may, Mr. President?”

Surprise dawned in Washington’s eyes. “Madison?”

The small man walked out onto the floor. “Let's take this moment to establish a precedent.” He nodded curtly at Washington. “First of all, sir, we won't involve you in this. Imagine this debate with all of congress, it's ruinous!” He turned to the rest of the room. “I'll reassure the South, 1808 is still the year that was agreed upon. That buys us time and assuages fear. I'll tell the North that on January 1st of that year, we'll ban importation handling the worst. Once I get all this agreed upon, I'll pick up a pen and introduce a motion never to discuss this again.”

Alexander forced his gaping mouth shut. “Mr. President!” He demanded, John’s voice ringing along with his own.

Madison turned to him. “Hamilton, if we support emancipation every single slave owner will demand compensation. And as for slandering Jefferson with talk of mistresses, do you really wanna, really wanna have that conversation?”

Alexander’s heart seemed to stop. He stared down at the ground. “No.” He murmured at last.

Washington gazed at his former aide for a moment, then turned back to Madison. “Madison, execute your plan to the letter. Let's hope the next generation thinks of something better.” His hammer hit the podium, a thunderclap booming at the exact moment... as if the skies themselves agreed with the president.

The meeting was adjourned and the room slowly emptied.

Alexander, however, remained where he stood, leaning over his table, staring at his hands.

_ I lost. _

His mind short- circuited and churned with shock and horror. 

_ I lost. We’re gonna remain a slave country. _

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he glanced around to see John and Hercules. 

The Carolinian’s green eyes were dark with shock and concern. “Alex?”

Alex swung his head back down. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” John’s voice deepened with worry. “Alexander?”

“For losing.” Alexander swallowed a lump in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, fists clenching of their own accord. “For… ruining your dream.”

John made a noise of confusion. “Wha…?” He shook his head. “Wh- no! Of course you didn’t ruin it!” Alexander felt his hand come back up to his shoulder. “The nation is just run by a bunch of fools.” He turned Alex around, gripping both shoulders. “We can still fight to end slavery.” He urged, eyes blazing with that old determined fire. 

Alexander let out a breath. “I guess.”

Now it was Hercules who spoke. “C’mon, Ham, don’t give up. I know you’re stronger than this.” He patted his back. “You can do this. We can do this. Together. Yeah?”

A small smile grew on Alexander’s face, and he let out a breath. “Okay. Yeah. You’re both right.”

John smiled, and Hercules slapped Alexander on the back. “Attaboy!”

Thunder clapped on the other side of the window, and Alexander jumped back. “L- let’s head to my office.” He stammered, straining to keep horrific memories from surfacing. One thunderclap. That’s all it would take for his PTSD to come raging full force, a tidal wave of heart- stopping, terrifying images from his past.

John’s face grew serious, and he nodded. “Come on.” He led Alexander out of the room, Hercules grabbing the Carib’s papers and following at their side.

The minute they entered Alexander’s office John closed and locked the door, shut the blinds, and sat down in the furthest corner alongside Alexander and Hercules.

Alexander shivered and unconsciously began wringing his hands.

John placed a hand over Hamilton’s, silently squeezing as thunder boomed outside. 

Alexander was not the only one who had trauma triggered by storms.

It reminded John of the cannons during the war.

Hercules glanced at his two friends, caved and pulled them both close to him. “Alright! Remember when we went camping with Gilbert?” He recalled.

“During the revolution? Yeah.” John smiled anxiously. “That was fun.”

Even when the storm had died, the three of them spent the rest of the day sharing stories.


End file.
